


tasteless

by Akedeia



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Probably a little crack, at least for me, it's literally a poem, or maybe it's just Gombrowicz, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:40:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akedeia/pseuds/Akedeia
Summary: Poem constructed from the dialog of the first meeting of Will and Hannibal.





	tasteless

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I was rewatching the first episode of Hannibal (it's really good) and was thinking that if act of murder is a theatre, dead body a sculpture, then the psychology is a poetry. And you could build a poem out of a particularly wordy scene. Aaaand then I tried it, with mixed results I think. But it was a fun thing to do.
> 
> Everything outside of brackets is from the Brian Fuller Hannibal, the first meeting scene. Enjoy?

tasteless

(i murmured

in the middle

of the journey

of my life)

 

Do you have trouble with

taste?

(Asked Death

in a dark wood,

where the direct way

was lost.)

 

my thoughts are often

not

tasty

 

Nor mine.

(A step for me.)

No effective barriers.

 

i build forts

 

Associations

(a step towards me)

come quickly.

 

so do forts

 

Not fond of eye contact,

(a step in my direction,)

are you?

 

eyes are distracting

(i said

looking for escape)

you see too much

you dont see enough

and its hard to focus

when youre thinking

(about signs of life)

um

“Oh, those whites are really

white”

“He must have hepatitis”

“Oh, is that a burst vein?”

so

yeah

i try to avoid eyes

whenever possible

 

I imagine

(He measured me)

what you see and learn

touches everything else

in your mind.

Your values

(He counted me)

and decency

are present,

yet shocked

at your associations,

appalled

at your dreams.

No forts

(He divided me)

in the bone arena

of your skull

for things you

love.

 

(with my eyes on his

scythe

i said)

please dont

psychoanalyze me

you wont like me when

im psychoanalyzed

 

(With eyes on his prey

sharpening the blade.)

Perception’s a tool that’s

pointed

on both

ends.

I think I can help.

(Death said.

And what’s worse,

the forest was

RED.)


End file.
